A Difference of Passions
by Edward Uwnhai Silverfang
Summary: Námo and Irmo meet in Lórien and walk together.


Title: A Difference of Passions  
  
Type: FPS  
  
Author: Edward Uwnhai Silverfang (EddieUwnhaiyahoo.com)  
  
Rating: NC-17  
  
Pairing: Námo/Irmo  
  
Warning: Incest  
  
Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me, only the story line.  
  
Beta: LadyHawksShadow  
  
Summary: Námo and Irmo meet in Lórien and walk together. Notes: I'm joining this to a series of fic's all written listening to a song, this one was 'Hey Man Nice Shot' by Filter. This doesn't necessarily mean the story carries a similar essence to the song or some other such, it just means I was listening to it and it inspired me to write this story.  
  
Fiction Info: As suggested by my Beta, the wonderful LadyHawksShadow, I am providing information on the characters and setting in which the story centers.  
  
Námo: Most commonly called Mandos after the halls he runs, he is considered to be the dooms man of the vala. He holds his halls in the west of Valinor where elves who die are taken to wait till released to the rest of the Aman.  
  
Irmo: The Vala of Dreams, he is titled Lórien, after the gardens in which he dwells. Irmo and Námo are considered brothers and also have a sister, Nienna, the vala who weeps and mourns for the suffering of Arda.  
  
Ilúvatar: Eru, the creator of the Ainur, and through their music did Eru create Arda and all of those whom dwell upon it, and it is only he who fully knows its fate.  
  
Lórien: The gardens where Irmo and his spouse, Estë, dwell.  
  
Mandos: The Halls of Waiting, where elves who were slain were sent. Námo ruled there and even took his most commonly known name from his halls.  
  
Valinor: The land founded by the Valar after Melkor destroyed their home in Almaren. It was first part of the world where all could reach it, but after King Ar-Pharazôn rebelled it was removed from the circles of the world and left open only to the elves by a "Straight Road"; also known as The Pathway into the West. Valinor is also known as the Undying Lands, Aman, The Grey Havens, ect.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE  
  
Two forms walked together in the deep night, trees and other plants and animals, almost surreal in it's their beauty, surrounded them. A deer passed them by on her way home with a little one with white polka dots scattered upon his back, and his large brown eyes looking at them curiously for a moment; when one of them smiled, he seemed to become shy and caught up with his mother, hiding behind her.  
  
The first gave his companion a sidelong glance, then sighed, and turned back to his path. The other's lips shifting upward for a moment in the parody of a smile then shifted back to his stern continence afterward.  
  
"Why do we do this to ourselves, brother?" the first asked impatiently.  
  
"Do what?" the other asked innocently.  
  
His brother sighed once more and stopped turning to look at the other, studying him intently for a moment, seeing his black hair whirl around him in the slight breeze, and his eyes, ageless and imploring in their wisdom watching him just as intently. His soft peach skin was incased within a dark blue tunic that hung to mid-thigh, with white legging's underneath  
  
"Don't do this to me, Irmo," Námo implored.  
  
Irmo studded his brother for a moment, many could say they were very similar, but neither of them saw any likeness between the two. Námo had black hair that fell to the bottom of his back, Irmo's own hung to his knees. Námo's eyes were crimson in color, and his skin was nearly white, but not grotesquely so.  
  
Námo was thin, and lithe, seemed to be made of only a wisp of air, while Irmo was thicker in build, but still lithe. Námo wore dark colors, normally only black, but once in a while he would wear a dark red or burgundy. Currently Námo wore black leather leggings, and thick-soled boots that traveled the length of his thighs. Námo also wore a black velvety shirt, with a high collar, and leather gloves incased his hands.  
  
Irmo focused in upon those gloves, Námo seemed to always wish to show as little skin as possible and so wore gloves and let his hair fall free upon his shoulders. His elfin like ears peeking through only when the wind caught upon his hair or when he moved to quickly, which he usually didn't.  
  
Námo was always collected and never showed any emotions that would lead one to believe he was friendly. Irmo, though, was friendly and he sang and danced with his people in Lórien. All loved him, but not Námo.  
  
His brother was cold and aloof, he hid away in his halls and was only seen by the spirits who had died, and then, only briefly and upon his throne, showing him as some sort of being that one needed to show difference and respect, but was unapproachable.  
  
Many would think their views on life and death different because of these differences. Because it was Irmo who believed the elves should die on Arda, travel to Mandos halls, and then be sent to Valinor. He believed this because the elves who came to him from there showed more respect and seemed to be in more control and more wise with humility.  
  
Námo thought differently, though. It was he who saw the despaired, hopeless, loveless, most weak and forgotten elves. The ones beaten, enslaved, raped, the ones killed in battle and the ones dieing of grief. It was he who had to rebuild their fëa and prepare them for the world again, and it was he who said they deserved to never have to die, and to live out their lives joyously and together.  
  
"I do nothing, you do not have to come here, I do not ask you if you want to meet. You come to my home, my garden, and we talk, or quarrel. Whichever you please..." though the words were sharp, there was no contempt or anger behind them.  
  
"Your very presence confounds me," Námo sighed.  
  
They continued walking a bit longer, but then Irmo stopped and turned to the other Vala, "why do you continue to join me if I so wound you?"  
  
Námo stood there, looking straight ahead, eyes unfocused and it almost seemed as if he wouldn't answer, but finally "I cannot say," joined with a shrug of his shoulders and another sigh.  
  
Irmo stepped forward and brought a hand to his brother cheek, caressing gently and staring into confused and tormented red eyes. "My poor brother," he whispered, his face a mirror of sadness and sympathy.  
  
He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his brother's lips, Námo's eyes closed and he sighed again, but this time not in annoyance or despair, but in pleasure. Irmo smiled down at his sweet brother, as much as his mask was hard, was he really soft. Námo needed someone he could fall back on after seeing so many come to him broken.  
  
It was unfair, really, how Ilúvatar would give the responsibility that he did to Námo, who would have broken a long time ago if it were not for Irmo.  
  
Námo leaned into him, burying his face in his brother's neck and wrapped his arms around him, Irmo did the same, hugging his brother and rubbing soothing circles upon his back.  
  
His eyes widened briefly when he felt his brother's lips kiss his neck softly, and one of his hands moved up to cup the back of his neck, the other moved to his waist, and then Námo pulled away, looking into Irmo's eyes, and finally moved forward and kissed his brother on the lips, no where near as chaste as Irmo's kiss had been.  
  
But Irmo didn't pull away; he leaned into this brother's kiss and parted his lips when Námo's tongue streaked across his. He slowly closed his eyes and just accepted what was happening as his brother pulled him closer, and one hand snaked its way up his shirt, exploring the planes of his back.  
  
Námo pulled back after and moment, and begin slowly divesting him of his clothing, kissing and caressing the skin revealed. Irmo began pushing his brothers shirt up and over his head, letting it join his own clothing.  
  
Námo than wrapped one leg behind his and pushed him off his feet, slowly easing him to the ground, and he covered his brother's body with his own. Irmo soon found himself, not only completely naked, but lying upon the ground with his brother atop him, still wearing his leggings boots and gloves.  
  
He suddenly found himself hating those gloves, it was those that separated him from the rest of his kind, and it was those that he used to become what he needed to survive, and Irmo didn't want to share Námo with them. He quickly removed them and then tossed them into the shrubbery, and they were soon lost to memory.  
  
Námo was like a storm, he was everywhere at once, his hips rocked against Imo's, and his mouth covered Irmo's, there were hands caressing everywhere they could reach. His nipples were toyed with, caressed lightly and rings were circled around and around them before Námo pinched hard drawing a sharp hiss from his brother's lips.  
  
Before Irmo knew what was happening to him, he found he had two fingers knuckle deep inside of him, if Námo were anyone else, he would have wondered where the lubrication came from. But as it was, he couldn't do much of that wondering while writhing upon his brother's hand and gulping air into a passage restricted with all his moaning.  
  
Námo's fingers left him, and soon something else, larger, replaced them, and he watched as his brother's eyes fluttered closed, and his mouth opened in a silent moan. Of course Námo would love like that, always the one in control of everything and himself. Even though he knew that it was only because Irmo let him.  
  
Námo relaxed inside of his brother, collecting himself, before pulling out and then pushing back in, and starting up a pace. He studied his brother's body as Irmo gasped, twisting and turning, gripping this and that and his muscles clinching, his blue eyes glazed in his pleasure.  
  
He could hear his own labored breathing, and feel the sweat collect on his body, and then slowly drip down in little trails. He watched as one fell upon his brothers face, he leaned down and caught it with his tongue, and then plunged down upon his brothers lips, sucking Irmo's tongue out of his mouth and then biting down gently, then slowly sucking, just sucking.  
  
It seemed to drive Irmo crazy, not that he wasn't before, but Námo felt his muscle's clinch around him and then a hot sticky trail was covering his belly and dripping down upon Irmo's body, accompanying it all was a strangled wail. Námo thrust a few more times before he came, and he let his eyes shut and his breathing stopped, then it was over and he fell weakly upon his brothers body.  
  
He kissed his brother again and then turned to get up and dressed, but Irmo took him by the arm and pulled him down on top of his body, "just stay, stay like this for a while," he whispered before he slowly nodded off to sleep. Námo looked upon him for a bit, before silently agreeing and lying down and curling up around his brother's body.  
  
-End-


End file.
